Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“How’s it going?” Lady Heartstone came in the back holding two mugs and handed her one.
“I’m not sure, if I’m honest.”
The heat pushed into her skin and Rosamunde smiled, curving her hand around the tea mug. The drink wasn’t as dark as she was used to drinking but the scent was incredible, a bit minty.
“She’s unique, but she is absolutely amazing at what she does. I come to her for all my dresses now. So do Mrs. Morgan and Lady Edais.”
Names Rosamunde knew because they were women with skin similar to the marchioness’. Dark skinned, and not any of them were of English blood. By far some of the nicest women she’d heard about in London.
“They will be joining us at Heartstone.” Lady Heartstone sipped some tea. “It’s a green tea with some mint in it. I’m partial to this over black tea.”
Rosamunde’s heart thundered and she took a sip of tea to try to allay her fears of standing here in a robe with a marchioness. With her right there in front of her, it was harder to ignore than when she was in a different room.
“It’s delicious, my lady.”
Lola returned and had her dress draped over one arm.
“I did some work here to make it better. Not one of mine, but better.” She laid it over the footstool by Rosamunde. “I will get to work on the others and have them done as soon as possible. The one for the opera will be first and I’ll have someone deliver it to your home.”
Lady Heartstone smiled and rose to her feet. “Thank you, Lola.”
A curtsey. “It’s always my honor to serve, my lady.”
“Get dressed, Rose, we should be going.” A pause. “May I call you Rose?”
“You, my lady, may call me anything you want.”
A small laugh. “Good to know.” Back to Lola. “Additional funds for finishing so promptly.”
A smile graced Lola’s face. “Thank you.”
While the women spoke, Rosamunde stood, finished her tea and shucked the robe before reaching for the dress. As she pulled it over her head, she found Lola there, pins in her mouth along with a needle and thread.
Without a word, the seamstress moved her to face the other way and buttoned her up. She went to her knees and made sure the length worked then assisted her back into the shoes she would be perfectly happy never wearing again. Lola never once said anything about the thinness of her socks or the small holes in them.
Popping up in front of her, Lola grinned. “There.” Then she spun her to the mirror. Lola stood beside her and held her gaze in the mirror. “Much better, yes?”
Rosamunde lost her breath. It was her, but it wasn’t.
She stared at her reflection, trying to process that this was the same dress she’d walked out of the house in. The sage green dress had fit her like a sack. Now she had curves. She looked, dare she say it, pretty.
Maybe now Bryn would look at her instead of through her.
* * * *
Rosamunde is going to be within reach all weekend? I’m in some form of hell.
His mother meddled.
Bryn knew this. His father knew it, his sister and Falcon knew it. What he didn’t know was why she did this.
His mother had grown up the same place he had, in the wilds of America, learning life was hard and how to appreciate nature and all she offered. Also, to respect her. Being over here, in England, she’d not lost that edge. Sure it had softened, slightly, but she still viewed a good number of things as a threat to her and her family.
Which again doesn’t explain to me why she is meddling and what her reason is to do so.
He’d gotten home from his daily beating of Rosamunde’s brother. Or boxing lesson, whichever. Meant the same thing to him. People could call it what they wanted to because it made no never mind to him.
Bryn lowered himself into the tub of hot water that had been brought to his room upon his return. Reaching for a rag, he began to wash off the sweat and grime from the day. It wouldn’t do to try to head to the opera looking like he’d just finished a fight.
Personally, he couldn’t imagine being so apathetic toward one of his siblings. And the ones he’d grown up around were not siblings by blood, but because he considered them family. And he was the eldest in their group so it was his personal job, in his mind, to look out for all of them. Hard to do when some lived here and some far away from him in the islands.
He smiled as he thought of Uncle Phillip and Aunt Fyre. He’d not seen them for a while and perhaps it would do him some good to go there on his way to America. He’d also not seen their children, the three she’d adopted when her brother had been killed and the three she’d had with Phillip.